


A Day At The Beach

by LondonGypsy



Series: Greek Summer Nights [3]
Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF
Genre: Beach Sex, Developing Relationship, F/M, but here comes the angst, fluff... a bit, more like a hint of what's yet to come, more than sex?, not much though, sexy times continue, shamless Benedict is really shameless, suppressed emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:44:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LondonGypsy/pseuds/LondonGypsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tousled, tanned and very sexy Benedict in Greece.<br/>Isis, writing for a newpaper, at a Sherlock promotion.<br/>And what happens when they cross paths and spend the night together.</p><p>This is the next day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day At The Beach

**Author's Note:**

> A huge Thank You goes (as always) to my beloved SuperWhoLockGypsy.  
> Also a big big Thank You to Barawen and calliope79 for inspiration, cheerleading and generally making me want to continue this.  
> Barawen also for BritPicking this baby.  
> Thank you, Ladies, wouldnt have written this without you.

“So,” I say, leaning back against my chair, pleasantly stuffed, “what do you want to see?” 

“You...naked,” he utters between the last bites of his croissant. 

“What was that, I didn’t quite catch that?” I tease despite the blush creeping up my face. 

He shakes his head absently and winks at me, smoothly changing the subject. 

“I don’t know, what do you suggest?” 

Narrowing my eyes I watch him closely but he is beaming at me, waiting. 

I shrug. 

“Very well. Hmm, the beach? The city? Although...” 

Taking him to the city wouldn’t be such a wise decision. People do know him over here even though he's not as famous as in his own country. 

He tilts his head, obviously pondering my suggestions. 

“Beach sounds good. I don’t feel much like running around all day,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, and good-naturedly I roll my eyes at him. 

“You _are_ a dork. Beach it is then. And you’re lucky, I know one that’s pretty private so nobody's going to bother you there.” 

“Will _you_ bother me there though?” he asks, sounding all innocently optimistic. 

“We'll see,” I reply, swatting his hand away as he reaches out for me. 

He pouts, making me laugh which makes him groan in return. 

“God, you have an incredible laugh,” he says, a hoarse tinge to his voice. He lets one hand slide under the table, adjusting himself in his shorts, moaning quietly at his own touch. 

I swallow hard. 

He's so sensual, so bloody responsive to the smallest things, and it's driving me mad in return. 

Firmly I push my chair back, making him jump a bit at the sudden movement. 

“I need to shower first. Alone. And get dressed properly,” I say sternly, wincing as the blooming hope on his face at the word _showering_ falters into another pout. 

Internally I thank my bosses that they allowed me to book a night at this very hotel; so I have some clothes to change into with me and don’t have to wear the same dress I wore yesterday. 

“You,” I point at him, “get a shower too and I'll meet you in the lobby in half an hour?” 

Best to not meet here again or we're never leaving this room. 

He salutes and I giggle at the eager way he sprints towards the bathroom.

The last I see is his naked arse as he lets his shorts fall to the floor before disappearing into the shower. 

Chuckling I grab my purse and dig through it for my own key-card. 

I am already at the door when I realise in shock that I am still only wearing his shirt and nothing else. 

Shaking my head at myself I look around for my clothes. I find my dress at the end of the bed and my heels under it. I can't for the life of me find my underwear. 

“Damnit,” I mumble to myself and slip into my dress, leaving Benedict's shirt reluctantly on the bed. 

Need to look for the rest of my clothes later, I think as I eventually leave the room, walking slowly down the hallway. 

My own room is one story below, less fancy than Benedict's but still nice. 

I quickly undress and hop into the shower, hissing as the warm water reminds me of the marks on my back. 

Standing under the water, it suddenly hits me full force. 

I've had sex – three times – with Benedict fucking Cumberbatch. 

And there might be more if the day proceeds like it started. 

My knees buckle and I slide to the ground, leaning against the shower wall, trying to breathe. 

The man, I've adored from afar, the man, I've had a crush on since I first saw him on my TV, has chosen _me_ to spend the night – and the day – with him.

He could have any woman out there, they would kill each other for a few minutes, let alone the night, with him. 

And yet he picked me. 

Shaking my head I scramble to my feet and finish my shower. Wrapping myself into a towel I wipe the steam from the mirror and look at myself. 

Blue eyes are staring back at me, wide and a bit confused, brown, shoulder length hair, currently dripping wet and plastered to my head. 

Nothing out of the ordinary, a normal woman in her early thirties. 

And yet, he must have seen something in me. 

I stare into the mirror for a bit longer, trying to see what he saw. 

“I don’t get it,” I tell my reflection, shrugging. 

Amused about my own silliness I dry myself and look through my little suitcase for something to wear. 

 *

15 minutes later I sit in the lobby, nervously tapping my foot. 

Every time the lift door opens, my heart jumps in my chest but he seems to take his time. 

I glance at my watch again; he's five minutes late. 

It's nothing, I tell myself, just five minutes, nothing to worry about.

If he's not here in 10 minutes, I'll go up, it's not that I don’t know his room number. 

But then the lift doors ping open and he hurries out, his gaze quickly scanning the space of the lobby. 

When he spots me, his entire face lights up and with only a few strides he's in front of me, the smile on his lips wide and contagious. 

“Sorry, sorry, my agent called, something he couldn’t wait with. Sorry, I am late, forgive me. I don't have your number otherwise I would've called you.” 

He grabs my hand and pulls me up and into his arms before he takes a step back, lifting my hand and presses a kiss on it. 

I am a bit dizzy as he flops down onto the sofa I was sitting on and pulls me down with him. 

He's like a whirlwind, I have barely time to breathe.

“You look lovely,” he whispers in my ear, his hand brushing a strand of my hair out of my face. 

“You...” I stumble over the words, “you too.” 

And he does, of course he does. 

He's wearing black, skinny jeans and a white t-shirt, a light grey jacket and a black cap on his dark curls. 

“I know why you wanted to meet down here,” he murmurs conspiratorially, lowering his voice into the rough growl he knows by now is killing me. His hand is sliding over my leg, slowly vanishing under the hem of the blue summer dress I picked. 

“Stop it, you're in public, “ I hiss, trying to push his hand back but he's much stronger than me. 

“And?” he asks sweetly, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, his fingers tightening around my leg. 

“Paparazzi, for instance,” I shoot back and that does the trick. He narrows his eyes and glances suspiciously around the lobby. 

“Fucking bloodhounds,” he grumbles, pulling his hand back but not before lingering for just one more moment. 

I take a deep breath to steady my hammering heart; he's turning my entire world upside down and I am still adjusting. 

“Come on, let's get out of here before they arrest you for indecent behaviour,” I say, standing up. 

He stays seated, just looking at me. 

“What? Do I have something on my face?” I ask nervously. His thorough gaze is making me fidgety and I smooth a hand over my hair. 

“No,” he says solemnly, “just... you are beautiful.” 

His tone is earnest and the expression on his face is one of awe. I blush deeply, not knowing what to say. 

“Absolutely beautiful,” he repeats softly. 

He stands and holds out a hand to me. “Shall we?” 

Hesitantly I lay my hand into his and his fingers instantly entwine with mine. 

He smiles at me before he pulls out dark shades and puts them on. 

“Just in case,” he smirks, squeezing my hand. “Come on, there's a beach waiting for us.” 

 *

The sun's burning down mercilessly, making the air simmer and everything further away seems like an apparition. 

Ocean and sky have become one and I can barely make out Benedict's head above the waves; only a dark spot in the endlessness of blue and white. 

We've arrived here without problems; nobody seemed to recognize him on the way or if they did, they left him alone. 

I lead him through the tiny town, I know like the back of my hand, straight to the hidden jewel at the coast. 

Only a handful people know the path leading down to the beach. It's hard to find and one has to know exactly where to step to not fall down the rough hill, leading towards the sea. 

It's been a while since I've been here but I still remember. 

And as we finally emerge from the dense woodwork, keeping nosy tourists away, I am rewarded with a speechless Benedict. 

He just stands at the end of the beach, staring out onto the sand, the ocean, the sky, his mouth hanging open in amazement. 

“Wow,” he utters after a while, “this is fantastic. How...why...” 

He seems to have lost the ability to speak and I grin smugly at him as I lead him over the white sand towards the palm trees scattered in the dunes. 

“Only the locals know about this place and they barely come here as the way's rather difficult as you may have noticed.” 

He nods absently, too busy drinking in every little detail. 

I let him; it is overwhelming, even for me. 

The rough rocks around us are framing a little piece of paradise, almost untouched by people. This place is almost completely fenced off, only a small passage between high and dangerous looking rocks gives way to the ocean. Behind us, a dense thicket of trees and bushes keeps passing people out and the beach itself hidden from sight. 

It's more a lagoon than a beach, further enhanced by the tiny waterfall, splattering down from the top of the cliff on the west side. 

Benedict kicks off his shoes and digs his long toes into the sand, sighing happily. 

“This place is glorious,” he exclaims, a wide grin spreading over his entire face. 

“Can... can we swim in there?” he asks but before I can say anything he has torn his shirt over his head, shed his jeans – no pants – and is running into the on-rolling waves, throwing himself into the water. 

I can hear his squealing as the water hits him and burst out laughing at the utter joy he displays. 

For a moment I think of joining him but then decide to leave that moment to him. 

I wander over to one of the trees and sit in its shadow, enjoying the warm air around me. 

It is strange: him and me, it feels a lot like _us_. Much more than one would think after only a few hours together. We go from teasing each other playfully to heated looks and promising touches within seconds. Talk flows just naturally between us, as does the comfortable silence every now and then. 

That is nothing two strangers normally share. 

Leaning back against the tree, I close my eyes for a bit; the sun's warm, the day calm and the only sound the soft droning of the waves against the shore. 

I must have dozed off because when I open my eyes again, I am stretched out in the sand. 

Benedict's laying next to me, his head propped up on one hand, watching me. 

“Hello Beautiful,” he says gently, his eyes crinkling as he smiles down at me. 

“Hey...” 

“You're gorgeous when you sleep.” 

A cool finger lowers onto my face, slowly outlining its contour.

“You're watching me sleep?” I croak but the expression on his face stopping my teasing tone instantly. 

He is looking at me like I am the most precious thing in the world. 

“Yes,” he murmurs, his hand cupping my cheek so carefully as if I’m going to break if he touches harder. 

I get lost in his eyes, wide open, unblinking despite the brightness of the sun and as deep as the ocean behind us. 

“You're marvellous,” he whispers, his gaze is locked with mine. He leans down. 

My brain registers the wet hair, plastered to his head, the tiny water-drops on his face, glistening in the sun, the beginning of a sunburn on his nose. 

But all is forgotten, wiped away as his lips cover mine, a soft pressure, only just there. 

It feels different to the other kisses we've shared – those were messy and heated, passionate and plain filthy at points. 

This though, this isn't about sex, this feels like something deeper, something more meaningful. It's soft and gentle, his lips sliding languidly over mine, sparking a burning fire in my veins.

His big hand is cradling my head, fingers sliding over my ear, making me shiver at the touch. 

The tip of his tongue is darting out and with a moan I touch my own against his hesitantly. 

He is humming tonelessly, his body pressing closer against me, shifting me almost imperceptibly until we're pressed against each other from chest to toe, his long legs tangling around mine. His limbs are still a bit wet and cool against my sun warmed skin; the touch feels like an electric shock and I shudder again. 

He nips on my lower lip, then deepens the kiss when my hands dig deep into his shoulders, making him groan lowly. 

My heart is racing and I’m sure he can feel it, as I can feel his, thundering in his chest. 

His skin quickly warms, the kiss becomes more urgent and yet he's not moving, only his lips against mine and his hand in my hair. 

Even as he's getting hard, throbbing and hot against me, he's not making one move to take this further. 

He's clinging to me though, pressing me hard against his chest, soft little noises rumbling through his body, vibrations that resonate in mine. 

“Benedict,” I murmur encouragingly, making tiny thrusts against him. 

He breaks the kiss, his nose rubbing against mine, he's panting heavily, 

“God, you're killing me,” he whispers huskily. His voice is trembling and I pull back. 

“Hey, you okay?” I ask, suddenly concerned: his entire body is shaking and his eyes are too bright. 

He swallows hard, his throat clicking as he does. Then he nods. 

“Yes. Yes I am. I have never been more okay than in this very moment.” 

Before I can ask more, he seals his lips over mine again, kissing me fiercely. 

His hands start to wander. 

His touch is feather light, like the breeze blowing over the sand. 

Pulling back, he props his head on his hand again, his eyes wandering over my body, following the path his hand takes. 

Slowly his fingers creep over the buttons of my dress, popping them open one by one, his fingertips caressing every newly revealed patch of skin. 

Benedict scrambles into a kneeling position, looming over me, his eyes suddenly dark and hungry. 

I am trembling in anticipation while he opens the rest of the buttons, pushing the fabric off of me, leaving me exposed to the sun and his equally hot gaze. 

Leaning down to capture my lips again, he slips his arms around my shoulder, easily lifting me up and opens my bra. 

He's taking his time, slowly sliding the straps down my shoulder before he lowers me back into the warm sand, dropping the bra carelessly. 

My eyes close as he starts dropping kisses all over my body, my neck, my shoulders, sliding down to cup my breasts in his hands, just holding them. 

I gasp as his lips close gently around my aching nipples and I am arching up as his teeth scrape over the sensitive flesh. 

My hands fly up, searching for something to hold onto. 

“No,” he murmurs, catching my wrists and presses them gently back down in the sand. 

Slipping one leg between mine, he pushes them apart and lowers himself between them. His hard cock rubs over my thigh and we both moan. 

The wet strands of his hair fall in his face, brushing over my breasts as he leans down again, licking and kissing down my torso, biting and sucking at my skin. 

It feels heavenly, the sensation of his warm hands and the cool water-drops still falling from his hair. 

Slowly, so very slowly he slides lower, never stopping to touch. My eyes are closed and every kiss, every lick, every bite is chasing jolts of a fiery want through my veins. 

He is worshipping my body, worshipping me, taking his time, discovering my body, memorizing every curve, every line. 

I am burning with desire, moans and cries are tumbling from my lips that I don’t have control over. Every time my hands flutter around and want to delve into his hair or cling to his shoulder, his soft but determined “No” has me arch against him instead, searching the contact he denies me. 

He's slowly taking me apart, and he knows it.

And as his tongues slips between my slick flesh, finds the little spot there, I scream out, waves of pleasure rushing through me. 

I am trembling heavily and only his big hands on my hips keeping me from trashing under him. His clever tongue is doing unspeakable things to me, driving me mad with need. 

I feel the familiar tingling of the approaching orgasm in my toes and my spine. Every sensation is doubled, I feel like I am floating and only Benedict's weight on me is grounding me. 

Suddenly he stops and nothing on earth could've stopped the unabashed cry of loss falling from my lips as he leaves me. 

I don’t have much time to complain; he is rummaging through his discarded jeans and I hear the familiar ripping of plastic and a desperate groan. 

Dizzy with need I watch him putting on the condom. He lowers himself into the sand, pulling my boneless body on top of him, his hard cock rubbing hotly against me. 

“Fuck me,” he whispers hoarsely, “please...” 

The expression on his face is achingly open, his eyes are pleading and wide. 

I am still shaking but I grind my hips over his straining erection and the strangled noise he makes goes straight to my still quivering sex. 

I spread my legs over him, take him in my hand and guide him quickly inside me. 

When I lower myself down, I am watching his face, watch his eyes screw shut, his mouth falling open. 

His chest is heaving, his face is red and sweat's trickling down the side. 

I clench around him and he cries out, loud and helpless and his hands find their home on my hips again. 

“Fuck, wait a second,” he mumbles, taking a few steadying breaths before his lids flutter open. 

I gasp as I see his huge pupils, his eyes have gone completely black and the unmistakable craving I can read in them is taking my breath away. 

“'kay, move,” he breathes, arching up into me and making me moan in return. 

I do, slowly circling my hips, over-aware of his thickness inside me, his tightening grip on my hips, his burning gaze on me. 

There is no haste, I take it just as slow and gentle as he did earlier, the sun hot on my back, my shadow falling over him so I can watch his face. 

He keeps his eyes on me, staring into mine with an intensity and a fierce desire that makes me want him even more. 

It is too hot to establish a proper pace but he doesn’t seem to mind; he has given the control to me and will take whatever I offer. 

His hands are running restlessly over my body, caressing my stomach, my breasts, playing with the nipples, making me arch into his hands. 

I could keep this up for as long as he wants but eventually he can't take it any more. 

“Harder,” he mutters, gripping my hips once more, thrusting into me with more force. 

We're both groaning loudly, sweat is slicking our bodies. 

Tension is rising in me, I am tethering on the edge for too long by now and I let one hand slide between my legs, rubbing the little spot there. 

Benedict's eyes go wide and his movements stutter but never stop. He licks his lips, his stormy eyes are glued to my hand. 

My lids flutter close but I am over-aware of his gaze on me. It feels forbidden and dirty and it's the hottest thing I've ever done. I moan loudly, letting my fingers slide around him inside me before I return to pleasure myself. 

The sounds he makes are maddening: choked up groans, hoarse sobs, so bloody sexy it spurs me on even more. My fingers move faster and I clench hard around Benedict's slowly moving cock, making him hiss at the feeling. 

I cry out when my orgasm washes over me, ripples through me like waves against the shore.

Abruptly he pulls me down, crushing his mouth against mine, kissing me desperately. 

His arms wrap around me, holding me close against his broad chest while he pumps into me, hard and fast, making me whimper helplessly at every thrust. 

A broken noise falls from his lips, he takes a shuddery breath and comes undone under me. 

His head falls back, his arms around me tighten before they fall away and he goes completely still for a second. 

Then he starts shaking like a leaf and he's gasping heavily. 

I strain my inner muscles a few more times and he whines. He weakly lifts his head and pulls me into a sloppy kiss. 

“God, have mercy,” he mutters. 

I smile hazily and make a move to slip off of him. 

“Don't... stay...” 

It's only hushed and there's a pleading to his voice, that I don’t dare to move. 

I bury my hands in his slick hair and curl up on his chest, his rapidly beating heart slowly calming down. 

We stay like this for a few more minutes until he shifts us around and slips out of me. 

He grumbles as he grabs the condom and discards it carelessly into the sand. 

Deprived of his strong hold on me, I collapse into the sand, trying to regain control over my boneless limps. 

The sun is burning down on me and for a short second I think to get out of it to but I am too worn out to move. 

Benedict's fingers creep over my outstretched hand, laying on the sand, and as he gently tangles mine and his together, I have to fight back sudden tears. 

_Jesus, woman, get yourself to together_ , I scold myself. 

“I think I have never seen anything hotter than you, touching yourself,” he whispers, squeezing my hand. 

I hum in return, not able to form words. 

We lay in silence, holding hands and when I sleepily turn my head to look at him, I catch him watching me with a thoughtful expression on his face. 

I quirk an insecure smile at him which he doesn’t return. 

I frown. 

“What is it?” I ask, puzzled and a bit worried at his stillness. 

He stares at me for another second before he shakes his head and smiles that lopsided smile at me. 

“Sorry...” 

Still frowning I turn over, regarding him closely. 

“Are you okay?” 

He nods, the smile becoming a bit more convincing.

“Yes, yes, sorry.” 

There's a shiver running through his body but before I can ask, he pulls our still joined hands to his lips and kisses my knuckles. 

“You up for a swim?” he says, scrambling already to his feet, “you have sand all over you.” 

Pulling me effortlessly to my feet, he doesn’t await an answer. 

When I stand, he steps close and takes my face in his hands, his thumbs caressing my cheeks. 

“This is the best vacation I've ever been on,” he murmurs, his gaze gliding over my face, seeming to drink it all in. He leans down and kisses me, just a peck to the lips but there is something so sweet, so lovingly in it, that it makes my heart ache. 

“Ben...” I start but he lets go and grabs my hand, pulling me along as he runs towards the waves. I have to hurry to not fall face first into the sand – not that he would allow that, of course, a tiny voice in my head adds. 

The cool water against my skin stops every thought though. 

Laughing in delight, Benedict throws himself into the clear blueness, and since he's still holding my hand, all I can do is follow. 

For a few minutes we're splashing around, giggling like children, washing the sweat and sand from our sticky bodies. 

Eventually I am out of breath and head back onto the shore, Benedict close on my heels. 

We don’t have any towels, not even a blanket, so we are wandering around the beach to dry off. 

We are not talking, it doesn’t seem necessary. 

And there's that tiny voice in my head again, curious and nagging. 

This shouldn’t be so comfortable. He and I are behaving as if we've known each other for years not only for a few – two, that voice helpfully supplies – days. The playfulness, the passion, the easy silence. All this feels like a relationship, not a bloody summer fling. 

It _is_ a fling, nothing else, I try to keep telling myself. It can't be anything else. He's an actor, for Christ's sake, only here for a few days. Soon he'll be leaving, back to his normal life in England, back to being the man, I see on my telly or search on the internet to swoon over. He'll have forgotten me by then, just a nice memory of a few summer days in a foreign country. 

My heart clenches at that thought and yet I try to keep telling myself that this is all there is, all I will get. I'll cherish these few days though, will never forget the wonderful time I've had with him. 

I glance over to him; he has let go of my hand and is strolling along the waves licking over his big feet every now and then. 

He is beautiful. He really is. 

The setting sun paints him in a golden light, casting a fuzzy shadow on the white sand. 

His hair has dried into a tousled mop, glowing auburn in the clear air, curling tightly around his thoughtful face. I have always admired his profile: the long delicate neck, the sharp angles of his cheeks, the sensual swing of his lips and the glimpse of blue, grey and gold of his eyes. 

Now he's gloriously naked, his entire body in full display for only me to see. 

Broad shoulders, the defined muscles moving smoothly under slightly tanned skin, glistening with sweat. 

The soft curve of his back, his ridiculously small waist, like a woman's almost. 

His arse. God, what a delicious arse he has. 

Legs, long, oh so long, carrying him all over the world and right now kicking tiny clouds of sand over the beach, every muscle tensing and relaxing while he walks. 

_Jesus, get a grip_ , I tell myself and have to turn away from him and breathe to calm myself down again. 

Just a summer fling. Just sex, nothing else. 

Pulling myself back together, I go back to where my clothes lie in the sand and quickly dress. 

Two warm arms wrap around my waist, stopping my hands from buttoning up my dress. 

“I liked it better on the ground,” Benedict purrs into my ear, followed by a low chuckle as I shudder heavily at his deep voice. 

“You really like it, don’t you?” he asks, pulling me flush against his chest. 

“You really don’t know what you're doing to women with that voice of yours, do you?” I reply mockingly despite the goosebumps raising all over my skin as he laughs again. 

His fingers slip between the fabric of my dress, caressing my stomach. 

“Been told that a lot but I don’t really see it,” he admits and I feel his shrugging against my back. 

“Silly man,” I tell him, “you have the most amazing voice there is.” 

“If you say so,” he mutters distractedly, his fingers still playing with my buttons. 

It's his tone that gets me, the dismissal in it. 

Suddenly I feel fury, hot and raging fury, and I whirl around, ignoring his protest. 

I grab his face between my hands and search his eyes. 

“Listen to me, Cumberbatch,” I growl, anger boiling through my veins, “you are the most amazing human being in the world. You are gorgeous and more important than that, you are fucking talented. In fact, you are the most talented actor there is. You are kind and polite and too damn good for this world. Fuck, I always want to smack people who talk badly about you. They have no idea who...” I stop, swallowing around the sudden lump in my throat. 

He's staring at me, wide-eyed and shocked. 

“I...I... “ I stumble, the raging emotions leaving me as quickly as they came, “I just hate that you belittle yourself so often and just don’t see what an incredible man you are,” I finish weakly, embarrassment at my emotional outburst heating up my face. 

“Sorry,” I mumble, letting go of his face. I have never wished for an hole to open and swallow me like in this very moment. 

What has gotten into me? I have the least rights to tell him how to behave. I don’t know him at all, not really. 

“Hey, hey...” 

His hand on my shoulder holds me back. He walks around me and leans down to look into my face. 

“Isis,” I involuntarily shiver as he says my name, “thank you. I don't .. nobody... you...” 

He's struck speechless and in lieu of an answer he pulls me into his arms, hugging me tightly. I am stiff for a second before I hesitantly return the hug. 

“You are incredible,” I mumble against his chest, “I just hate for you to not know that.” 

“ _You_ know.” 

And those words, those two little words, make my eyes prickle with tears and I cling harder to him. 

Eventually he lets go of me and retrieves his jeans and his shirt, getting dressed in silence. 

I sit down in the sand, deliberately not looking at him, trying to regain my calm. 

The sun is setting; its beams are long and low, making the tops of the waves sparkle like diamonds. The sky has taken the deep blue colour of the twilight, a few clouds sailing lazily above me. It's peaceful and quiet, and it calms my confusing emotions. 

“I just don’t understand it.” 

Benedict sits down next to me, his arms wrapped around his knees, looking out at the sea. 

“All the hype, all the frenzy about myself. I am just an actor, doing my job, that's all.” 

He shrugs awkwardly, glancing over at me before he looks away. 

“I don’t get it. Suddenly there's all the insanity, wherever I go. It's great, and I wouldn’t want to change a thing but it can be a bit disconcerting. Suddenly, people are praising my looks, my body, my voice,” he quirks a quick smile at me. 

“I have always thought, I look a bit weird, all gangly and too tall, with a weird face and a too deep voice. I know what I can do, on stage, in front of a camera, and I know I am good. Well, most of the time, that is. Of course I have days when I think 'you've got the wrong job' and everything just sucks. But I try to give my best, put everything I have into my work, and mostly I am okay with that. Proud of it, too. There's nothing else I would want to do for a living and yet I wonder. What happens when I get old? When I lose those looks everybody's praising? What happens then? Will they tell me, I can't act? Right now, I can choose from every script I want, studios are killing themselves to get me in their films. But what when that stops, when they don’t want me any longer? I cannot rely on looks, I only can rely on hard work. Why do you think am I putting everything into every bloody role I play? Do research like an idiot? Because that's the only thing I can do. And sometimes I think, even that is not enough. I know how fucking hard and how unforgiving this business can be...” 

He has gotten louder, the longer he talked but the last sentence is only muttered, almost inaudible. 

I glance over, and he looks lost, small and curled up in himself, knees drawn up against his chest. 

My heart breaks for him. 

Crawling over to him, I sling my arms around him and bury my nose in the crook of his neck, holding him tightly. 

“Benedict,” I murmur, pulling back and searching his face, “you are fantastic. You are so much more than looks. You are an incredible actor, ask anybody. Yes, you look great...” 

This makes him grimace but as I take his chin and turn his face to me, he smiles hesitantly. 

“Yes, you are. Gorgeous and sexy. But foremost you are a mesmerizing actor. As you said, you put everything in every role you do and it shows. It fucking shows every time you take on a new job. I've watched a lot of your films and every time I am blown away at how easily you portray people, how you _become_ them. Not many people can do that. And I am sure, no, scratch that, I know, you will only get better with age.” 

He flinches at that last sentence but he must see something in my smile that makes him smile back at me. 

“Like fine wine,” I add, smirking and he laughs, even though it's hesitant. 

“Stop beating yourself, Love, just do what you do best.” 

Too late I register the pet name that slipped so easily but he notices. 

His eyes go wide and he stares at me for a second before he groans softly and pulls me into a fierce kiss. The intensity of the emotions underneath startles me but his hot tongue in my mouth quickly stops every rational thought. 

Muffled voices somewhere behind us makes him break the kiss and look over my shoulder. 

“There are people,” he murmurs, reluctantly letting go of me. 

“Hmm...” I hum hazily. 

He chuckles darkly and pulls me up on my feet, brushing sand from his clothes. 

My head's a bit dizzy but I look over and see a few people fight their way through the bushes. 

“Guess we should leave then,” he says, taking my hand, “'m starving anyway. Care to join me for dinner?” 

“Sounds good, yes.” 

“Lead the way.” 

And as we make our way back up up the hills, I try to ignore the way Benedict glances at me every time he thinks I don’t see it. 

Only a summer fling. Only that. Nothing else. 

And I deliberately ignore the sharp pain that comes with that thought. 

 


End file.
